


We Raise Our Cups

by Desiree_Harding



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, Tragedy, in my humble opinion, it's a cool vibe in this one guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25459807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desiree_Harding/pseuds/Desiree_Harding
Summary: "Gather ‘round, one and all, and hear from my lips the tale of Magnus, savior of the dead.It is a tale of love gone sour, of love undying, lost and found and lost again. Come friends, and hear the old tale, sung again, as old tales always are."It's an Orpheus Au, heavy on the taakitz, heavily inspired by Hadestown because you gotta love Hadestown.Come friends, and let me spin you a tale.
Relationships: Julia Burnsides/Magnus Burnsides, Kravitz/Taako (The Adventure Zone)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brookesmart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brookesmart/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sing It Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19969102) by [litbynosun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/litbynosun/pseuds/litbynosun). 



> Special thanks to [litbynosun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/litbynosun/pseuds/litbynosun) whose excellent hadestown taz fic caused me to remember that I had this half-finished, and inspired the final push. I highly enjoyed my read of their fic, linked in the inspired by tab, and you should all give it a read. 
> 
> Please Enjoy <3

*~*~*~*~*

Gather ‘round, one and all, and hear from my lips the tale of Magnus, savior of the dead. 

Now that we have supped and drunk our wine tonight, friends, that we have feasted and drained our casks, I implore you, gather round me and hear again the tale of the death and rebirth of spring. The tale of love gone sour, of love undying, lost and found and lost again. Come friends, and hear the old tale, sung again, as old tales always are. Recline with me upon this good green earth and hear, once more, of how we have come to reap its harvests, to take pleasure in its many gifts, all those good things the gods have bestowed upon mankind.

Come with me, friends, to the uncertain, volatile past, when the earth was young and man younger still, to where our song begins, with the birth of the twins.

It is said that when the twins were brought into the world one night, when a bolt of lightning fell from the sky upon the loom of istus as she sat, weaving her tapestry, and when the cloth caught there was a great crack and a wind, and the fire leaped one way and the smoke another, and from them sprung the Twins, fully grown, as two halves of one whole.

To the goddess Lup was the responsibility of the sun given. And she, her brow crowned in flames, was tasked to travel each day across the sky as the sun, which would guide the passing of day and night, and would bestow upon the world all warmth and light.

And to Taako, as counterweight to his sister in the heavens, went the earth. And he, the wily, clever, and changeable among them, was appointed the god of all changing things. It was he who would facilitate the alteration of seed to flower to fruit. It was he who would mediate the strongest winds and melt the snow of the high mountain peaks into water that would make the rivers flow. And with his sister gazing down upon him, he walked the earth day by day, and rose to ever new heights in his invention of all that was poetically temporal in nature.

With the birth of the twins, the earth was altered. Their partnership over heaven and earth, over power and mediation, was unmatched. Lup fueled Taako, and he, in turn, changed her power into a thousand things. And the whole of the earth, and all that lived upon it, flourished under his guidance. And all creatures, great and small, rejoiced in their prosperity.

So complete was this rejoicing that it echoed through the heavens, and fell upon the ears of the gods in their celestial pantheon. And so too it permeated the earth, through the waters that created the caverns and the caves, and there it fell upon the ear of the god Kravitz, lord of the dead, who dwelled in the cool dark of the underworld, and who had been tasked at the beginning of the age with the keeping of deceased mortal souls. 

Sitting upon his throne, King Kravitz heard the voices of the newly deceased singing the praises of the twin gods, heard the waters calling out their names as they flowed through his kingdom, and moved to a moment of rare curiosity, he stood, and left his throne, setting out for the mortal world above, if only to see the work of these new gods, who had caused such a disturbance among his realm.

It is not known whether by fate or by chance the god of the dead happened to emerge from the underground precisely in the path of the god Taako’s footsteps. But what is known is this:

That when he breached the surface of the world, Kravitz, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, laid eyes upon the god Taako, surrounded by his creation and glowing with all the warmth and glory of Spring, flowers blooming everywhere he stepped, face haloed by the golden sunlight showering from his sister’s chariot in the heavens onto his skin and hair.

And in that instant, the god of the dead, who had known only the darkness and cold of the underworld since the day of his creation, fell suddenly and violently in love.

And approaching Taako he fell to his knees and with tender words begged the springtime god to take pity on him, and not to condemn him to an eternity alone in the dark. He held out his empty hands and begged for Taako to accept him in marriage, to become his husband, his consort, and rule with him over the land of the dead.

And Taako, moved by the King’s gentle words and his beauty, by the outpouring of his heart, agreed. 

And there beneath the open sky the marriage was accomplished, and in a moment Taako was taken in Death’s arms and retired to the Underworld, to become king-consort over Kravitz’s realm, and to reign alongside him over all the souls of the dead.

And Taako loved the Underworld, its quiet and its peace, and loved the king of the dead all the more for it. He wandered beneath the earth and squeezed coal into diamonds, took pleasure in the changing of molten earth into stone, of pressure and of artifice, and of the alterations that came over even those things long dead and buried.

And the Kings over the dead were happy.

Except.

Without the god of transmutation, of change, the surface world suffered terribly. Lup carried on in her dance through the heavens, day by day, but there was no god to mediate the sun’s light. There was no force to facilitate the growth of crops, none to change the seed in the earth into a strong, plentiful stalk, none to turn buds on the trees into flowering fruits, none to move the winds and spread warmth across the earth, none to guide the rain clouds in the sky and melt the snow on the peaks of the high mountains. The life across the earth withered without Taako, crops burnt to a crisp in the places the sun shined, lakes frozen solid and smooth where it did not. Without the counterpart to the Sun Twin, the gentle balance of nature was thrown, to the detriment of all.

So it was decided in the heavens, as the gods looked upon the earth, scorched here and frozen there, that the god Taako must be brought back.

His sister was sent down from the heavens to retrieve him, and for seven days the sun did not shine upon the earth as she made the long journey through the winding paths of the Underworld and to the court of the king of the dead.

When she arrived she appealed to him, and to her brother, seated upon their twin thrones, and told them of the world, withering without Taako’s presence to sustain it. Taako could not remain in the Underworld, said she, for without him nothing could live. The mortals that walked the surface of it would perish in time, and all things would come to an end if Taako remained in Kravitz’s kingdom as his consort.

And the kings of the Underworld grieved to hear it.

But what could be done?

_ I cannot be without you _ , the King of the dead said to his husband.  _ Do not sentence me to an eternity alone. _

And Taako was torn. How could he go aboveground and abandon the one he loved, never to see him again? But then, how could he allow the world itself to end? How could he abandon his sister, who could never leave the mortal world in darkness for the sake of a visit to his new home?

And it was there that the torment of the god of changes began. Torn between two worlds and equal loves, the god Taako began to understand that he would never be able to be whole again. That so long as he existed, he would belong to a place apart, would always be missing a piece of his heart.

And with a heavy heart, the god Taako struck a deal.

For half of the year, he would remain with his husband, in the cool, calm realm of the dead. For he could not be parted from his truest love, and and would give him all the time he could manage to give.

For the other half, he would walk the earth, and work all the more, ever harder, to provide the mortals with bountiful harvests, and Lup’s sun would shine brighter in support. And Taako’s labor would provide the mortals with the provisions to last them the cold months, when he returned to the underworld, and Lup would retreat from the earth, and allow her sorrowful longing for her other half to lessen her light, so the world did not burn in Taako’s absence.

And so it was. Taako bid his husband goodbye, and returned, heavy-hearted, to the land of the living. Where he set himself to work.

Six months is but a trifle for a god. Barely the time it is to take a breath, if such things as the perception of time among the gods could be known by mortals such as we. It should not have been more than a blink for the god of the dead, who came about at the first death of the first mortal on earth, and who had spent eons in the dark.

But that bright, beautiful god he met on the world’s surface had kindled something in his heart such as he had never felt before. And without him, each day became an eternity. Kravitz, god of the dark and the dead, had never known to miss warmth and light and life until he held it in his hands for a scant and beautiful time.

He mourned as only a god could.

And when Taako returned to his husband’s home, at the end of his long summer, exhausted from working double to ensure the mortals would survive despite his absence, he found not the loving god he left, but a harder, darker one. Like a man starved, a husband who seemed to wish to devour every moment of time with him, and yet looked upon him with the fear and mourning of loss already in his eyes. For even when they were together, it became that Kravitz could think only of the next time they would be apart. Frightened of the pain of it, angry at the injustice.

So it went for eons. Taako, ever the god of the overworked, the exhausted, withdrew from his husband, who was so caught in his longing for Taako that there was no love left in him to give. And Kravitz, ever wishing for more attention, more  _ affection _ from his love, to fill his long, empty months alone, changed the underworld. He built monuments to his husband, to draw his attention, his admiration. He built gilded towers, statues and artifice. Created for himself warmth and light of his own, in any way he could.

The underworld was changed. The god of the dead employed the souls under his charge, assigning them backbreaking work in mines, factories, and mills. He mined the earth for every shred of wealth that could be squeezed out of it, to fuel ever greater monuments. He built foundries and filled the caverns of the dead with noxious smoke and the heat of raging fires, as his servants fashioned him steel. He harnessed the power of electricity, and strung shining suns along the walls of his home, harsh light illuminating the assembly lines and deadly machines all the more.

The nature of death was changed into an eternity of servitude, and the nature of life was a tightrope walk of survival, the summers ever growing shorter as Kravitz grew greedier for Taako’s time, called him back before his six months were up, a half day early this year, a day the next. And if more souls died in the long winters, if more mortals starved in their homes or froze in their beds, more souls were available for the King to employ toward his cause.

For if he could not have Taako, he would have everything and everyone else, in time.

And the god of the changing seasons, of the transformation of earth was left with nothing but an endless cycle of restlessness, was left no choice but to numb his exhaustion in drink, year after year, eon after eon, spending his days above and below in a mindless haze, so as to avoid the pain of seeing his husband so changed, the pain of seeing his efforts toward the mortals fail, time and again. To numb the exhaustion of working ever harder each year, only to reap fewer and fewer benefits.

And thus the cycle went on, until all who had even heard tell of a time when death was not cruel were extinguished, until all those who knew a true spring had long since passed on.

And then came the woodcarver. 

A young man, strong and true, whose work pleased the gods and men alike. A simple man, of simple means, and simple hopes and dreams. 

Whose greatest accomplishment in life was not his work, skilled as he was, but rather his love.

Magnus was his name, and he was celebrated for the immense love he had for all living things, and above all, for the love of his wife, Julia, who gazed upon the shortened seasons and the torment of death and who defied it with a seemingly endless capacity for hope. They were known among the mortals for their devotion to each other, for their unfailing faith and love: a partnership that seemed built upon stone, and never would falter.

Seemed, at least.

For as with all mortal affairs, death had its say, and cast its shadow even upon Magnus and Julia’s unshakeable love.

No one ever came to know how Julia fell. Some said it was a winter that had grown too strong, the result of the god Taako’s weakened, numbed state. Some claimed negligence on Magnus’s part, a passion project that had gone too far, and had caused him to forget his wife long enough to give her no choice but to take the hand of the King of the Dead and follow him to his kingdom of toil. Some even said that her steadfast hope in life was never so strong as it seemed, and when faced with the slightest adversity, she abandoned her love and all she stood for for the promise of the underworld’s warmth and wealth.

But the specifics of her death are not the point of this tale. What matters is that Julia fell, as mortals are wont to do, and one day when her husband called her name, there was no one left to give answer.

The depth of Magnus’s sorrow was beyond mortal expression is not enough. Such a sorrow had never touched a mortal heart before.The loss of Julia could not be borne. He cried to every god who would listen for an answer, for consolation.

For justice.

And so great was his renown among gods and men for his devotion to his wife, that he received an answer. 

To him appeared two gods. The first: Istus, goddess of fate, and the second: Barold, the god of love. Barold, as the patron of love, was so moved by Magnus’s adoration for his wife even in life, that he told the woodcarver he could not abide the separation of two such souls. And Istus, goddess of fate, told Magnus not why she came, only that she saw fit to answer his plea, and that indeed, should he be willing to endure the trials of the Underworld, there was hope that his wife might be returned to him. 

_ I will endure anything _ , the woodcarver said,  _ anything, if she will be returned to me _ . 

And so from the tapestry of fate, Lady Istus pulled a long thread, and gave it to the woodcarver to use as he wished. And with the help of the god of love, he carved a resonant frame, and cut the thread into lengths, stringing it upon the wood to create a lyre, imbued with the power of fate and of love. The gods blessed it, and Istus told him that so long as he carried it with him, it could protect him from harm even in the depths of Kravitz’s kingdom. For so powerful was the love woven into its very frame, that any heart would melt before its music, mortal or otherwise.

And with their gifts bestowed, the gods sent him on his way.

The road to the underworld was impossibly long, though simple to find. All mortal things are drawn, inevitably, to death, and the call of it thrummed instinctually through Magnus’s heart, through his blood and his veins, and led him, unflinchingly, to Kravitz’s realm. No one knows how far or long he walked. He had little to sustain him but the magic of the lyre, which he would strum when he tired. And it would sing to him and to the rocks and stones of the love and Julia shared, and would cheer his mind and strengthen his resolve, and on he would walk without rest.

Thus Magnus descended into the earth, following the tracks of the dead, yet undying.

Now around his kingdom, the god of the dead had built a great wall such that none could penetrate. Constructed brick by brick on the by the labor of the innocent dead, it was so high no mortal eye could perceive its end. And when Magnus came to it at the end of this road, one strum of his lyre caused the very stones to weep and fall aside to let him pass.

Now the spirits of the dead could identify the living in an instant, and the more vindictive among them fell upon Magnus as he passed through their ranks, in search of his love, but upon the sound of but a single string, would fall instead upon the ground and weep. Those who had loved were drawn once more to their fondest moments of life; those who had not were seduced by the thought of such affection, and Magnus passed them all, unfettered.

So he proceeded, among the souls of all who had died since the dawn of mortality, searching for his love, demanding of his lyre to sing of her until she was brought to him. 

And it was this song, this sound that echoed through the halls of the underworld. That travelled through Kravitz’s stone and brass and bronze, through copper wires and flickered the lights that hung from them, that penetrated his factories and stopped the dead in their work, until the entirety of the underworld was humming with her name:  _ Julia, Julia, Julia _ .

It was this song that penetrated even the depths of the god Taako’s wine-induced haze, that cleared his vision and made him straighten his spine and lift his head for the first time in years. That caused the smallest spark in his long-jaded heart, that conjured the image of a man, on his knees, who looked at Taako like he had never seen beauty before, and was captivated by it. That brought to mind the plea of an old god made young again, and the vows of two immortals, further immortalizing their love.

It was this song that moved the god Taako’s dead heart to pity, when he called for the shades to bring Magnus before him, and heard the sound of the man’s nimble fingers on what seemed to be Taako’s own heartstrings. It was this sound that swayed the dead king’s consort to the woodcarver’s side.

But Taako knew best of all that the laws of death could not be crossed. That once a contract was made with the god of the dead, it could not be broken by any force. His contract had been made, eons ago. He knew now better than anyone that the woodcarver’s campaign would end only in his own destruction.

Unless, perhaps, he were to do something about it. 

And with that pity that Magnus had instilled in him lodged deep in his heart, Taako, for the first time in an age, shook off the haze of drink, and went willingly to his husband, to appeal to him for Magnus’s happiness, and for Julia’s life.

_ And why should I care for the plight of this mortal? _ the king said, seated on his throne, draped in cloth-of-gold and diamonds in his hair.  _ Why should I break all the laws that govern my domain, my very existence, because you have gone soft over a mortal’s petty songs? _

_ If you would only listen _ , Taako implored him,  _ my love, then you would understand _ .

Then the king, whose heart had long since been hardened from loneliness, looked, displeased, upon his domain, and saw it in chaos. He saw his production halted, while the living mortal waded through crowds of shades who clambored to hear the sound of his love put into song, watched as he approached the King’s palace, swarms of souls behind him. He thought of his husband’s plea, of the last time he had heard mortality united in the praise of one being.

_ Very well _ . Said he, cruelty and coldness dripping from his every word,  _ if I must hear him, for you, lover, I shall hear him. I shall indulge your folly, one last time, before he is mine.  _

Said the king,  _ bring the boy to me _ . 

And it was done.

_ I am told _ , said the king,  _ that you have sought an audience with me, mortal. That you have come here, emboldened by my foolish celestial brethren, with the intention to challenge my authority over my own realm. _

_ No, my lord, _ Magnus said to him, bowing low,  _ I merely came with a gift for you _ . And the king of the underworld laughed a cruel and cold laugh. 

_ Call it what you like, then _ , said he.  _ It makes no difference to me. I have indulged you for the sake of my husband _ .  _ Show your gift to me, and perhaps if I am pleased, your eternity’s work shall be rewarding.  _

And so to him Magnus presented his lyre, and let the king take it freely from his hands. In a moment of courage, Magnus gave up his most powerful artifact, that talisman of protection, which had cleared his way through the underworld. He gave it freely to the king, in hopes of swaying his majesty’s heart. 

And the king, who had not looked upon a fine, artful thing in many years, whose afterlife was ruled by productivity and riches rather than pleasure, took the lyre gently in his hands, and with a curiosity he had not felt in eons, put his hand to one solitary string, and plucked.

And from the lyre poured a music so heart-wrenching that while it sang, the lands of the dead and the living both fell still. 

It sang to the king of his love, of the taste of springtime and sunlight on the face of one who had spent all his days in the dark, of the jaded man given hope, of an old god made young again. It sang of a simpler world, a toiless peace that seduced the very god of the living to fall for the god of the dead. It sang to him of humility, honesty, soft adoration that swayed the heart of his love to his side. It sang to him of a solitary moment in time, when even the god who ruled over the final destination of all once-living things was laid powerless and bare in the face of love.

And for those few minutes, the king of the dead sat in silent rapture, transported once more back to the moment he laid eyes upon his beloved.

His beloved, whose eyes had been glazed with toil and pain for as long as even the King could seem to remember. Whose eyes lay now upon the boy’s masterful instrument, clear for the first time in eons, and imbued with incredible melancholy that seemed to shatter the dead king’s shattered heart. 

_ No more! _ He cried, and one hand upon the lyre’s strings halted the music short, and with gentle hands the king retreated from his hall, saying nothing more, until he was alone with that torturous gift the boy had given him.

He spent long doing nothing but staring at that instrument, tortured by the simplicity of it, by the seduction. He dared not touch it again. 

It was in that time, alone in his sparse, darkened study, that Kravitz’s torment began.

He had always been of one mind before. He loved Taako, he wished for him to stay; he thought it unfair that his love had been taken from him. The laws of death were right and just, and were not to be broken under any circumstances. His existence had been ruled by truths such as these. There was little dilemma in death.

But there, inside his shattered kingdom, the king felt torn for the first time. 

There was no correct choice to be made. For if the king were to keep the boy’s lover in his domain forever, the shades of the dead would riot. Magnus’s love had swayed them all, and the rule of a god is a treacherous thing. Should he refuse the boy, he would be drawn as heartless, and would have to face the consequences of an entire kingdom rebelling against him. Kravitz’s kingdom was the largest in existence, in all of time.. Should the souls of the dead unite against him, even he could not suppress them directly. 

And his husband had begged for the boy to be allowed his love. To deny it would be to seal his fate. To deny itwould be to forfeit the chance of ever having his love for Taako returned again. The one shining thing in Kravitz’s dark world, the original warmth and light that had intoxicated him all those ages ago, would be extinguished. Doomed to drag himself back and forth year after year between two miserable realms for eternity. The final hope of revival crushed under the dead king’s heel.

And yet. 

He could not let the boy go.

For if he did, where would the releases end?

Magnus was not singular in his affection. Every soul loved another. Were he to fold to this boy, who was he to deny the other mortals? Those who missed their family, their lovers, their friends. The more he released, the more would come to beg, until his kingdom was emptied of all his subjects, and the earth overrun, and then where would his beloved Taako be? Drowned by the masses of mortality. Sealed in a torturous fate of another kind, doomed to work forever for them, and never have his work be enough.

No, thought the king, the boy and his love could not be released. Not without some kind of condition.

And with that thought, grief welled in Kravitz’s heart, for he knew what needed to be done.

He returned to the court, to his husband, slouched upon his gilded throne, and the King spoke to the woodcarver. 

_ You are free to go,  _ said he,  _ under one condition only _ : that Magnus would lead his lover out of the land of the dead without once turning to look behind him to ensure that she followed. He would not speak, to hear her answer. He would not reach out, to feel the touch of her hand. He would journey alone, but not alone, and be tested in his faith. 

For faith, said the king, was the very cornerstone of an eternal love. Had the king had faith in his husband, he would not have feared his permanent loss every six months Taako was away. Had Taako had faith in the world above him, he would not have worried so much for the fate of it while he remained with Kravitz below. Had Kravitz had faith, he would not have foolishly sought love that Taako willingly gave, as much as he could.

And with these words, Magnus agreed to the king’s condition, and the king sent him on his way. 

It is said that the kingdom of the dead fell silent, as Magnus walked past all the shades of the deceased of the ages, out through the broken wall, as he followed the tracks of the dying out of their eternal kingdom, reversing his trail. It is said that his footsteps reverberated off the great stone walls of the underworld for unfathomable miles, a lonely, empty sound, while the entirety of the world both above and below waited, in breathless anticipation.

For countless hours it is said he marched on, unwavering, with only his thoughts to keep him company.

And it is there that he faltered. 

A mortal man’s thoughts are dangerous things. We beings who are so short-lived find ourselves unable to trust completely, even when we believe our faith to be unshakeable. We are so temporal, we do not realize what is before or behind us, unless we are able to see it with their own eyes. 

The road through the underworld was dark and long. And Magnus was alone. And in his generosity, he gifted the lyre which had brightened the air around him on his journey downward to King Kravitz, and so had nothing in his hands to pass the time. Nothing to remind him of the warmth of his wife’s gaze or the touch of her hand. No remnant, no memory to grasp tight in his fist while he wandered, up, up, much further than he remembered travelling before.

Doubt curled its cold fingers around his mind. 

Perhaps Magnus did not realize that when a god gives their word, they are bound. Perhaps he did not recognize the power of Lord Kravitz’s agreement, and the condition therein. Perhaps it was the King’s own fault, eons of mistreatment of mortal souls smeared upon his reputation, so that no mortal could know him as anything but a villain, selfish and cruel and slippery.

Whatever drove him to it, even Magnus, steadfast Magnus, whose love for his wife had stopped the very world in his tracks, that had made a god go back on the very purpose that drove his existence, could not resist the temptation to confirm that his love followed him after all. Upon the sight of the sun ahead of him, upon the elation in his heart over his escape, he turned, just briefly, to ensure that his victory was truly in hand.

And as the sun rose and spring broke over the world, the woodcarver fell to his knees on the newly blooming earth and wept for his broken heart. He watched, doomed to watch, as the soul of his wife faded from view, back into the horrid, stinking depths of Kravitz’s domain. And the thought of her, deep in King Kravitz’s mines, broke him into pieces, until he was certain he could not go on, and would rather join her there in companionable misery, than suffer alone in the miserable human world, where spring would hold no joy, and summer no pleasure. 

And no sooner had he found his resolve in this thought than the Lady Istus appeared to him once more, tapestry in hand and tears in her eyes.

_ You knew _ , Magnus said to her.  _ You know all, and so you knew I would fail _ .

And with a single golden tear coursing down her cheek, her ladyship replied.

_ Yes. _

_ Why would you send me? _ He asked.  _ Why would you tell me to go to her if you knew, all the time, there was no hope? _

And Istus laid her hand upon him, and told him to look.

And when Magnus’s eyes cleared of his tears he was sent a vision. A vision of the underworld changed. A vision of a parting between gods, bittersweet, and of spring returning to the world once more. A vision of the god of the dead raising his hands, and of all the souls who had spent their afterlife in endless backbreaking toil laying down their tools, and the stones weeping once more as they did when Magnus broke down the King’s wall. And he watched as the underworld was overtaken with their tears, as the King of the dead destroyed his monuments, his factories, tore down his blinding lights. As the kingdom flooded, from the base of the world to the top of the tallest construct of the king’s, and the remnants of the torment of the dead slipped under a placid sea, dotted like a night sky with pinpricks of light.

He watched the souls of the dead float there, in that endless sea, and felt, for a moment, but a sliver of their relief. The relief of a million billion souls who, all at once, were finally put to rest. 

_ You see _ , Lady Istus said to him.  _ It is as it must be. Death is no longer a vengeful punishment for mortal souls _ .  _ The lover gods will heal, in time, and with them so will the earth. You have freed them, Magnus. You have freed them all _ . 

_ And Julia _ ? He asked.

_ She waits for you there, in rest.  _ Lady Istus said.  _ As it must be _ . 

And the woodcarver nodded his head, his heart still lying heavy in his chest. 

For while the world healed, he would remain the carrier of a responsibility he never knew he would be asked to carry, a tool of the foolish, quarrelsome gods. He would remain the hero of the world, unwitting, unwilling, and consumed with a loss he could never cast off.

_ You are a selfish race _ , he said to Lady Istus, _ and I will have nothing more to do with you _ . 

And then he went his way.

And was true to his word.

It would be the satisfying way to end this story, to say the man lived a hero’s life. To say that he was revered, and was glad to be. To say that he nobly bore his sacrifice in front of all humanity, and was praised for it. But, my friends, that is not the life our hero, Magnus, led. In truth, he lived as we live. He toiled and rested as we do. He suffered when hard times came and rejoiced in times of plenty. His life was long, though at times he did not wish it to be. He lived and died as we live and die, gracelessly, randomly, and imperfectly.

But, my friends, know that this much is true: It is to him that man and god alike owe their happiness. And when he entered into the sea at the end of his time on the mortal earth, he was welcomed there, with open, loving arms.

And as we raise our cups and drink to him, friends, it is with this prayer that I shall leave you:

May the same be said of all of us.

*~*~*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm gonna be real with u guys, I've been going the fuck thru it this summer, so a comment on this here fic would be Highly appreciated, if you enjoyed it. It's been a good long time since I've managed to actually write.  
> If you're wondering if I'm going to finish any of my WIPs the answer I have for you is "what WIPs"? XD  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. I tried something new with this one.  
> Find me on tumblr [@desiree-harding-fic](https://desiree-harding-fic.tumblr.com/) for bonus content, an open inbox, and general shenaniganry.  
> much love,  
> Desiree <3


	2. ART!!!!

This art is by [@her-biness](https://her-biness.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Follow her, she's excellent. To those of you on mobile easier viewing can be found [here.](https://her-biness.tumblr.com/post/623672597702443009/and-in-that-instant-the-god-of-the-dead-who-had)


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